


Everything Stays

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don Rosa - Freeform, F/M, Family, Old Age, Romance, Scroldie Week, The King of the Klondike, Young Goldie, Young Scrooge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: Everything stays, but it still changes. Glittering gold, ice and snow, their hearts beat as one.





	1. Klondike

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Scroldie Week! Day 1: Klondike

He didn’t want to read it. Scrooge gripped the frail envelope, staring back at the Mountie as he rode off on his steed. He swallowed and glanced back, northern winds threatening to snatch his hat away. An uncomfortable nest settled in his stomach, and questions of frightening strength nearly made him double over in self doubt.

He was a self-made man and was now one of the richest men in the world. He had no reason to doubt or question who he was and what he desired, but as he stared at that measly, wrinkled envelope, all the horrors and doubts that plagued him for more than two months strengthened ten fold.

His frustrations took shape in a crooked scowl and a rueful glare. “This probably another complaint she filed,” he snorted, “or a lawsuit for fire damage or some other delivery to harass me.” The possibilities were endless.

Throw it out. Yes, that was the smartest thing to do. She - Dawson, had cost him too much, and he wasn’t going to offer anymore at their feet. The poor envelope twisted in his grip, and he softened, realizing what he’d done. He pulled the envelope away and side glanced to the brightly lit city below.

“Should I open this or is it better not to see the poison inside,” wary thoughts doubled and blasted with unkempt desires. Of the buildings still standing in the wake of the fire, the Blackjack Saloon glittered, and this was where his gaze traveled.

He imagined her adorned in her famous red dress, emerald jeweled hairpin crowning her hair. She was the star of the show, and as a consequence, was saved for last. He could...he might...just this once…

Scrooge shook his head. “Maybe it’s nicer to pretend that there’s one person in this sorry world that I might...that I can…,” he’d learned too early and too harshly of what the world offered, and of the many lessons he’d been taught, she was the bitterest.

He swallowed as the envelope and it’s sorry words slipped from his fingers. He marched one foot of the other, drawing closer, leaving a thinning trail of footprints. He gritted his teeth and gave thanks to the winds burning his tears aside. He gripped his straps, concentrating on his next destination. He’d need to find a ship. A ship was what he needed to return to Scotland.

He was more than a quarter away, distance steadily growing. He looked over his shoulder, only able to see the resonating city lights reach for the skies. His stomach clenched, and he nodded, reaffirming his decision.

“But Scrooge...what about all that’s happened this past month? Doesn’t it mean anything?”

“Yes,” he gritted his teeth, closing one eye as the wind began to pick up momentum. “It did...and you knew that! So why?” The moment her name left the Colonel’s mouth did he speculate a reason, an answer for her actions, but no sooner did they come was he pushed to act to convince her differently.

He clutched his shoulders. The wind grew harsher, and his knees began to buckle.

“Why,” he asked the wind. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you -,”

“I dug more good than you, you tightwad,” she shouted right before stomping away, fists clenched and head held high.

But that wasn’t it? That wasn’t the end of it. He assumed her heart was colder than the ice on a mooseneck glacier, and maybe it was. But that notion, his assumption didn’t conclude it was impenetrable against warmth and love. Hadn't he heard it? A sharp tightening of her throat and lungs when the coins struck him in the face that didn’t sound right out of her mouth; it’d contradicted everything he’d know about her.

Indignation hadn’t inflated and deflated her chest. What inflamed her emotions to anger wasn’t anger at all. His stomach started to twist in knots, and his fingertips burned with frost.

“The letter,” he gasped. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes blistered with frosty tears. He braved the winds and snow, keeping his gaze on the footprint trail until he came upon the envelope, pale yellow buried beneath the snow.

The wind swept the envelope too far for him to grasp it back. He watched it go, lost in the night, and returned to the letter, a little damn but safely preserved. He unfolded the paper and felt his stomach and lungs tighten pitifully.

He wrenched it free and inhaled, burying his finger under the flap. He teased the dampened paper, pushing back doubt. Its belladonna kiss wouldn’t strike him down tonight.

“It could be,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “It could be anything.” He wouldn’t know until he read what she’d written.

Be it the bitterest poison or sweetest wine, her affection was his to consume.


	2. Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Bermuda Triangle isn't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scroldie Week 2: Ice

Half-truths riddled Scrooge’s story, and fortunately, the children believed him. They didn’t see any reason for him to lie or censor certain aspects. He was more than happy to maintain the illusion and chuckled at their moonstruck expressions, hungry for second hand adventure.

Of the many stories they shared, permission to tell this particular one was pending. He insisted it was for the children’s benefit than his, and hoped she’d believe him. If her anger held away belief, he hoped love would soften her resolve towards forgiveness.

It’d taken place in early 1904, somewhere near the Bermuda Triangle. He was a little older. A little wiser. The game was more than five years old, and signs were beginning to show. They weren’t forty yet, but silver finally left its welts on her lemon-gold hair, mostly on the bangs where her hair was the palest.

It was the lines around her eyes or mouth that confused him. Scrooge did a double take and raised a finger, but Goldie glanced to her side and smirked.

“My assistant, Layla,” Goldie introduced proudly. “Layla, this is -,”

“Scrooge McDuck, I take?” She chuckled and extended her hand, “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

It was as if he was staring into a reflection he didn’t own. No older than seventeen, she possessed the grace and dexterity of someone much older. Her blacker than night hair was tied in a braided ponytail ending right above her tail feathers, and her bangs were parted to the sides of her face, a set of crescent moons.

Scrooge grasped her proffered hand and glanced at Goldie, whose expression wasn’t as unreadable as he liked. Her eyes were tight and brows drawn together; her crossed arms conveyed unexplainable discomfort. But he knew better than to ask.

“She wanted to meet you,” she explained flippantly. “She ran away from her boarding school, and what could I do then?”

“Boarding school?”

“Ashfeather College,” Goldie explained, returning to the boat she rented for the expedition. “A droll institute determined to make stiff necked ladies and dapper young men.”

Layla frowned and walked to her side, lifting one of the crates into the boat. “That isn’t fair,” she grunted. “It’s a highly recommended school, and my scholarship pays tuition and board. And I didn’t run away,” she snapped softly, referring to Scrooge. “It’s vacation.”

He clicked his tongue, more confused than annoyed or angry. Their plans were rarely concrete; they were open to discussion and improvisation. But he assumed there was an unspoken agreement, no third parties. He was nonplussed at the child’s inclusion; as long as it infuriated Scrooge, Goldie was satisfied.

Knowing this didn’t dampen his frustrations. When Layla stepped into the boat to count their inventory, he pulled Goldie aside by the arm.

“You seem upset,” she smirked, hand on hip. “Don’t tell me having a kid around us going to cramp your style?”

“It should cramp yours,” he threw his hands up. “Goldie, this is dangerous, and she could get killed.”

Goldie’s beak wrinkled, and her easy drawn stare hardened. “Listen here, Scrooge,” she jabbed her finger into his chest, “Layla’s one of the best navigators around. She’d get us out of that death trap lickety quick.”

“She’s a child, Goldie, and this is no place for children.”

“And how old were you when you left home?”

Scrooge’s feathers bristled. She knew what to say to push him near the edge, never over but just enough to ignite his wrath, which she was exempted from. He puffed his chest and flared, cruel retort on the tip of his tongue, but her smug expression said more than he preferred to know. He slumped and looked aside, unable to match her breathless glare with one of his own.

She snorted proudly. “Seems that’s settled,” she clapped and went to the boat. “I’m going to check the map. You can bring in that last crate.”

His beak curled to bite back, her cold glare whirled on him silently, green ice snapped his complaint shut.

“Fine.”

“Great,” easiness resumed. She climbed on board and called the girl’s name.

* * *

His reservations and frustrations were irrelevant, and they knew it. He did as he was told, and somehow, he successfully dropped the crate onboard. He met them at the wheel.

“Be careful, Layla,” Goldie instructed. “I can’t afford you falling off. Seriously, I can’t. Once we get to the whirling pools, you’re a goner.”

The girl’s laughter was like wind chimes. “Yeah, I know,” she winked at Scrooge and expanded the map above head. “But I have a way for us to avoid it. It’ll be a little bit rockier, but we won’t have to worry about destroying the boat.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Off we go!”

Generous winds aided their travels. Goldie’s expert skills were known; what baffled him was her confidence in Layla. As braggy and arrogant her claims, her assessment of the girl’s skills were accurate. Giant squids and sperm whales battled for dominance beneath horrid waves, and their combined skills circumvented certain death more than once.

Scrooge didn’t understand. He knew she wouldn’t have hired the girl had she been incompetent, but incompetence would’ve worked against him, rather than Scrooge. His throat tightened. Was this some sort of ploy? Using the girl against him to steal the treasure for herself? This was a likely explanation. He questioned what it meant for the girl; her eye rolls and sharp tongue didn’t conceal her blatant affection and admiration. For her, Goldie hung the moon.

This soured him. He was ashamed to admit he was victim to similar sentiments.

“Layla, where to next?”

“Near the rocks,” she instructed. “We need to go exactly in the center.”

“Good, good, now come closer, I don’t want you falling off.”

“Goldie,” she whined. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine for now,” she warned. “But you won’t always be.”

The girl rolled her eyes but complied, and maybe it was this interaction that compelled him to look a little bit deeper.

Goldie wasn’t a warm woman. He loathed and loved that aspect about her. She buried her heart deep in her soul, compressing it until it shined brighter than a diamond. Her teasing and mockery concealed her true affection, no matter her adamant denials, and Scrooge accepted it. He didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for and was simply happy to have her in his life in whatever capacity she chose; he’d discovered this at some point during his glacial escape.

What he observed was different from anything he’d ever seen. The coldness and ice Goldie manifested around her heart had thawed. She laughed gleefully without an ounce of shame, and brought Layla close, ruffling her hair playfully.

There were smart and sarcastic remarks, and Layla struck back just as hard.

“You’re thirty two with grey hair!”

“Your work, no doubt,” she snapped angrily, but the sweetness in his tone told them this was faux anger. “Hold on, we’re coming to dock.”

When they did, she hovered. Anxiously, worriedly, she watched the girl’s every move and nodded approvingly whenever she made an astute observation.

He licked the roof of his mouth and followed them, noticing other similarities he’d fail to take in account.

It was always the eyes, he realized. A shade darker and closer to the river than cut gems, Layla’s state blared the same green ice, despite its tender softness and youth.

“Goldie,” he whispered.

She looked over her shoulder, “Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

She spared him a tired glance and shrugged, motioning for Layla to keep a safe distance ahead.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the barnacled blubbery,” he hissed.  
  
“Scrooge,” she faced him directly, gaze cut down to a sharp softness. She gripped his wrist and sighed, lowering her head, “I wanted you to meet her.”

She released him, returning to Layla’s side. The younger girl turned and waved, “Mr. McDuck, you’ve got to see this!”

“Course,” he replied dumbly. “I suppose the rumors are true, I hope.”

“I reckon,” Goldie observed, squinting at the sight in front of them. “Looks like ice.”

“It’s crystal,” Layla guessed.

Scrooge stared at the cavern’s ceiling. “Green crystal,” he glanced at the pair. “Could be more around,” he grinned.

Goldie, for the first time of several times, beamed in a way that made his heart flutter.

“You first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to complete the week, and this is a prompt I've wanted to write (or explore) for a long time now.


	3. Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Goldie share holiday grievances.

“I suppose you want to talk about it,” he said.

A cold wind chilled the air with a single touch. Scrooge shivered, teeth chattering in his head, and he gripped his coat tighter. The back of his head touched the wall. He closed his eyes and expelled the sigh pent up in his chest. He weighed his options and decided. He kicked the door open despite their shouts pleas.

It was the dumbest and most liberating thing he’d ever done. At least the top five. What idiot ran into a blizzard, unprepared and poorly dressed? He did. The air in the room was warm compared to awaited him outside. He wasn’t in the mood to think about it. He sat on the floor, warm and exhausted. Cold melted off his feathers and clothes; soon he’d grip a cup of hot chocolate. He smelled it in the distance.

She pulled a chair near. Sitting down, she peeked down and sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said truthfully. “I want you to not die.”

This was a kindness. Her accusation lied under the sentence, a very subtle reprimand. A harsher reprimand would come in due time, but not now. She was cold and tired too. Her gaze was concerned. It was worried. She wanted to say more, Scrooge believed, but something stayed her tongue. He guessed she didn’t want to talk about it. Communication was not her strong point.

He cocked his knee up and rested an elbow on it. She sat there, patient. Waiting. She’d listen had the dam opened; the leaky holed dam. He knew once he started it’d be impossible for him to stop. He’d hated the man for years, for no apparent reason except for the law of the land and the inconvenience of his birth.

“Christmas was abolished in 1640,” he began. A cool, yellow flame brightened on the walls. “1640 Act of the Parliament of Scotland abolished all celebration of the holiday. It’d return as a national holiday in 1958.” He rolled an eye onto her. Her blush caught them off guard, and she sucked her teeth.

“Christmas was the first thing my family celebrated when we moved,” she admitted tensely. “Móraí loved it so much no one argued. All was well and happy. We didn’t have a tree.” A caustic laugh didn’t ruin the memory, “We didn’t have a ham. Probably sheep. It was the first and last. She died the following February.”

“Goldie -,” she shook her head at him. This was not the time for him to pity her, or to offer unnecessary condolences. He nodded. “It was a crime, y’know. We couldn’t have celebrated if we wanted to, and I don’t think any of us did. What would Santa do? Have his toys and candy canes console us poor bairns?” He sniffed loudly, “Toys and candy did us little good. We made our toys. We had candy when we could.”

“A rare occurrence, I presume,” she said. Scrooge’s glare read a kindred spirit. “My older sister moved to New Orleans.” Goldie’s gaze scaled the wall above Scrooge’s head, and she sighed, “A fifteen year old girl in New Orleans.” Sorrow flashed in her stare, and smiled stiffly, “She sent home stalks of sugar cane. Actual sugar cane. You weren’t supposed to suck it directly, but we did.”

“Uncle Pothole gambled what he could’ve sent home as gifts,” Scrooge remarked coolly, but without anger or disappointment. Angus McDuck was dead and buried. His unwise financial decisions were a bane to his brothers, but he’d been a good, loving uncle. Creative too. His dime novels earned a small fortune for his descendants.

She slid out the chair and sat on his side. Ahead was a small, square window where snow whipped and wailed. Scrooge soured at the sight. Its deadly beauty did not sway him. She drew his attention quietly, and his stomach clenched. Their closeness warmed and irritated him, and remembering she was the reason he hadn’t died worsened his feelings. She wasn’t the type of woman to needlessly sacrifice her life for another. He reminded himself that she’d known about this place, and the knowledge comforted and disappointed him.

In each other’s company, they quietly soothed the other. It was not enough to heal the scars of the past, but they discovered the pain was more tolerable. She leaned close and whispered, “You really shouldn’t have ran out into a blizzard though. Santa was the one who dropped me off here.”

Scrooge’s aimless stare might have laughed. It didn’t. “You shouldn’t have stolen Mrs. Claus’ knitting needles,” he whispered back.

“It was pink diamond, dragon blood infused knitting needles,” she justified. Her smirk twitched at the corners, and she cuddled beside him. “And she was using them to knit the elves sweaters.” She showed off her pale pink knitting needles infused with dragon blood rolled in a neat side bun.

“He’s going to try to get them back, y’know.”

Goldie snorted. “He can try,” she challenged.

They laughed softly.  
  
“I don’t know how much it’s worth,” Goldie said. Her brows drew together thoughtfully, unable to comprehend what she was saying. This didn’t stop her. “I can’t say this is the worst way to spend your first Christmas,” she smiled at him.

He studied her. He didn’t know whether to trust or dismiss her smile. It lacked the usual toughness or sharp arrogance. She didn’t have anything to steal this time. There was nothing of value here, as the guest informed her when she found a secret passage to his bedroom.

Of their host, a door opened. He was a tall, hooved creature, chained at the shoulders and down to his ankles. He held a metal tray in massive claw-like hands. Hot chocolate teased their nostrils, and they flushed like gleeful children. He paused on the invisible line separating the living room from the attached library. He tilted his head, great horns shining a stark ebony under yellow light.

“You could have used the sofa,” he offered. “Or a chair. Or anything at all. I’m sure my utensils would’ve assisted you.”

“They didn’t want to,” cried the glass mug. “They said they wanted to talk privately.”

His eyes widened. Yellow irises burned their souls as black pupils dilated. “I understand,” he set the tray on the coffee table. “A marital spat?”

“We aren’t married,” they said in union.  
  
He shrugged. “Hm.” A calm stare revealed nothing, but intent was easily read. They stood on shaky legs and hobbled to the warm sofa on the other side of the room. Gently, they grabbed their mugs and inhaled the sweet aroma.

“The blizzard won’t last for long,” he began his return to his domain. “You may depart then, but I have some gifts to bestow you.”

“I thought you punished naughty children,” Goldie sipped. “Giving gifts isn’t your style.”

He stopped at the door and looked back at them. His lips spread from pointed ear to pointed ear, revealing sharp, canine teeth. They were well brushed; far better than either of them anticipated. This made the sight worse. Their imagination quickly went to the usual display of their mangled flesh and removed limbs caught in between properly brushed and flossed teeth.

His teeth wasn’t what unsettled them. It was his laugh. He tossed his head back, and his shaggy black mane on hoary skin trembled as laughter roared. A spidery, thick veined hand slapped his stomach three times. He wiped away tears out of the corner of his eyes.

“Oh my, oh my,” his laughter softened. “I knew I’d like you, Goldilocks,” he wagged a finger at her. “You’re what the globe showed.”

“Hey, do you want to get stuffed in a bag,” Goldie bristled, choosing to dismiss Scrooge’s inquisitive double take.

“I ought to give you the birch,” he said genially. “But what would it do to a poor child besides deepen their rage?”

There was no answer to that. He sighed safely, casting a disappointed stare onto them. “I punish children with my birch and spirit them away to teach them a lesson in goodness, but what good is goodness when the many starve,” he pressed a hand on the door. “We are stuck in our lots, but not you,” amber danced in his eye sockets, “that is the beauty of mortality…humanity, one we envy. You are not stuck. So please, please, enjoy yourselves, and yes, yes, they know the knitting needles are missing. But I won’t tell.” He winked, “The missus isn’t as jolly as you think.”

The door swung open and closed in the same fashion, leaving them as they were. Goldie’s chest rose and fell hotly. Scrooge simply sat, musing over the words, and gripped her fist.

“Not today, dear,” he whispered. “Not in his home.”

Goldie drank more than she should’ve, but listened. He opened an arm, and she fell in, resting a hand on his chest as she counted his heartbeats. They stayed that way for some time, comfortable in each other’s company. He was the one who met her stare, and smiled, weakly, beak blushing red.

She’d grown used to his gentle kisses. He wasn’t afraid of hurting her; it wasn’t about that. His uncertainty raced like a stallion. Never sated. Never soothed. She gave birth to it, and decided to feed it by deepening the kiss. She cupped his cheek and pulled him close. Their mugs were placed aside on the table. Safe out of reach. Her back fell on the cushion, and she toyed with his whiskers as his fingers began to roam.

Unbuttoned here. Unzipped there. A steady rock, gentle sway. The mistletoe Krampus placed above toppled and rolled down Scrooge’s back.

They didn’t know and didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want some hot chocolate, do you?


	4. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were some things Goldie loved more than gold.

“You loved gold more than me,” Scrooge lamented sadly.

“And that’s why you loved me,” Goldie replied sweetly.

She did not lie. She loved gold more than she ever loved him, more than she ever loved anything. She loved gold more than she loved her mother, but there wasn’t much love to spare there in the first place.

He never asked her what she loved more than gold. What mattered to him was where he fell in line on her wheel of affection, and he knew, for a fact, he was less than gold. Had he ever thought to ask the question, probably afraid to hear her answer, what would she have said?

“Diamonds,” she laughed as she slipped a bejeweled bracelet into her purse. “Diamonds are worth more...at times, preferably natural blood red.

Someone asked her, and it wasn’t Scrooge. Goldie forgot the person; their name, face, profession were irrelevant. Maybe it was an officer of the law? Maybe her father, aged and lost in memory, abandoned in a nursing home near her brother’s home.

She wasn’t sure. It was for the best that she remained oblivious ignorant; avoiding difficult conversations were her speciality.

She sat atop the ancient Mayan temple. Set above all she saw the widespread of foliage across the land, and wondered how long she had before she was set upon with angry worshippers.

“What is it you love more than gold,” she asked.

Goldie turned to her right and saw a woman sitting on the edge. She was handsome, pretty in a soft way. Her hair was a pale lemon yellow, almost white but not completely. An off white, close to cream was what Goldie would’ve called it.

“Are you coming to tell me how immoral it is to take the naay taak’in,” she smirked, batting thick dark eyelashes.

The young woman merely stared. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask, Goldie,” she murmured gently, a chuckle teased her restraint. “I’m sure they’d be willing to part with this piece,” her similar eyelashes darkened to gold fluttered.

Her beak twisted in a scowl. She didn’t like being told what to do, even a suggestion, though she knew this wasn’t an insult or an outright demand. She’d always been stubborn like; rather than outwardly, she spoke soft words and gentle curses. She led you to what she wanted to do.

Not today.

Not this time.

“Of course you’d want that,” she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, raising her head haughtily. “But I worked hard for this one.”

She burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Worked hard,” she wiped an eye. “Goldie, you certainly did. Having to avoid all of those booby traps and poisoned darts.”

“Exactly.”

The woman tilted her head, curious. “And you’re bored,” she asked. Her mouth opened half-way; in the way suggesting confusion slowly building to understanding. “You are bored,” she whispered in amazement. “You couldn’t get Scrooge to join you?”

Goldie’s cheeks flushed a faint red, and she crossed her arms, gripping the gold diadem tighter. “Of course I could,” she snapped. “But he returned to his family, as you know, or maybe you don’t since you’ve gone where you’ve gone.”

“Della isn’t the first,” she chuckled. “Hortense -,”

“Don’t say that,” Goldie sighed, massaging her temples. Her hair remained its youthful blond, but the shadows under her eyes darkened. “That’s...not...just don’t, okay?”

“Sore spot?”

“You should know.”

She crossed her ankles and stretched her toes. “I know,” she said unhappily. “I wish I didn’t sometimes, but I do...and this doesn’t answer my question.”

Goldie scowled, “You’re as stubborn as he is, I swear.”

“Come on, we’ve always been curious,” pale yellow, more lemon than sun, showered down her back, and she clutched a fistful to play with it. “Goldie O’Gilt, Ice Queen of Dawson, The Star of the North,” she rolled her eyes mockingly, but a touch of playfulness aired in her tone.

Goldie was unharmed. She rolled her shoulders and said, “Yes, yes, Daughter of Fortune,” she grumbled. “Was that the moniker you chose?”

“Once you get a nickname, it’s hard to shake, no matter how hard you try,” she grinned. Goldie didn’t know what to say. She understood. It wasn’t like she came up with those names; people gravitated towards her, like a moon to the earth. She back-stabbed, yes, but that was an unfortunate necessity.

“Diamonds,” Goldie laughed. “Diamonds are worth more, and are colder than snow.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You’ve never found the diamonds in the arctic,” she grinned. “Far more valuable than any other, not even canary or red.”

“Oh, Goldie,” she laughed, “you are a fantastic liar.”

The truth hung between them, a very thin line. Goldie saw her reflection in the woman’s eyes, drowning in pools of earthly blue green. Her stomach clenched, and she turned away, glancing at the gold diadem in her hand. Its emerald center mocked her, and for a moment, she was tempted to toss it aside. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling her lungs tighten as they recoiled within themselves.

“You aren’t real, are you,” she whispered.

Her expression was sympathetic, fringed at the edges with metal sharpness. “You know the truth, Goldie,” she sighed sadly. “It wouldn’t be this way had you asked him to come.”  
  
“He has a family.”

“And you’re not a part of it?”

Spoken, the truth might’ve broken her heart. Goldie knew one phone call was all she needed to do, suggest a very flighty adventures and inquire of his expertise. He’d come. That was her unfortunate lull over him. She gripped the diadem and set it on her knee, glaring at the grass far below.

“You are too, y’know,” she said softly. She met her stare, defiant and sad, “Why aren’t you here?”

The woman smiled sadly and stared to the rising sun peering ahead. “I don’t know,” she mused, “I wish I could tell you, maybe I was sad. Or angry. Or I -,” a shout rang out. She and Gloldie flashed to the entrance where a clamor of angry feet ran towards them.

“You should go,” she said gleefully.

“I know.” She spared the diadem one last glare, “But I’m not leaving this.”

This visage crumbled the moment she set off the temple using a glider she acquired on her journey there. She didn’t look back. She didn’t think twice. She glided to safety, oblivious to the theft that had taken place on the temple’s crown, but when she discovered its absence, she wasn’t nearly as disappointed as wanted to be.

“It was for the best,” she mumbled. “It isn’t like it was a diamond or an opal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like keeping it ambiguous. This takes place after The Golden Lagoon.


End file.
